Open Writing

Beth's full lips puckered as she recalled the details of the wine evening at Ken and Olivia Frampton's house. "We didn't exactly have a private conversation," she explained, referring to Brian. "You see, we were all sitting around a big table and he was a bit further along. I was sitting next to Ken on the one side and the woman who sometimes plays the piano at our church, Veronica, on the other. The conversation mostly went around facilities at the new clinic."

Ingrid nodded her understanding. She could hardly imagine what it would be like to eat oysters in the garden with the likes of Olivia's connections. How on earth had Beth been capable of it, after so recently being shamed by her husband and left almost destitute?

"I don't know if you've heard," went on Beth, "but someone has made application to the Town Council to build a German style hotel on the banks of the river. Sam Golding was telling us about that. It sounds very exciting."

"I hadn't heard," murmured Ingrid, picturing a romantic rustic structure with tables and benches overlooking clear running water. "It's a good idea." With so many German families in the district, a traditional Bavarian inn would likely be well supported. Not only that, but the town needed an alternative tourist attraction to the casino, with its over-the-top ethnic glitz.

Beth fingered her stud earring and continued with a faraway look. "It was while we were talking about the German hotel and its design that Ken Frampton brought up the subject of stained glass. Olivia said she would give anything for a pair of stained glass windows in her house like you have at Steelesbury. When I told her that I had some experience on a glass kiln and could make them for her, she got very excited. She asked me all sorts of technical questions, and pretty soon, everyone was listening to me. That was when I saw Brian looking at me with this funny expression on his face."

"Really?" asked Ingrid, dipping her spoon into the froth on top of her iced coffee and sipping thoughtfully. "Did he say anything?"

"He said," replied beth, pausing for effect, "that he had a book which I might like to see … and then he suggested that I go round to his surgery to collect it."

"Which you did, of course." Ingrid prompted.

"Of course!" Beth glanced dreamily down at her fingernails, which were freshly painted with a pretty pink varnish. "I went at lunchtime the next day, and caught him just as he was driving in. He has a new red Land Cruiser, you know. Very smart … except that it was covered in dust like a farm truck."

"Well …" Ingrid hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Her Polo was often covered in mud, but she hadn't thought of it as a slur on her character. She picked up her glass and waited for her friend to go on.

"The book was with him in the car," said Beth, rubbing her middle finger and thumb together over the floor, as if to brush way the memory of the dust, "so we didn't go inside. We talked a little bit about the wine evening …" she glanced quickly at Ingrid. "You know, the food and stuff. Just before I left, he said he hoped we would see each other again soon."

Ingrid smiled with admiration. "I don't believe it, Beth! It was that easy?"

"Huh!" scoffed Beth, clutching her iced coffee in both hands. "Not easy, Ingrid, believe me. I had to spend a whack of money to buy a new dress for the wine evening, and it was blooming nerve-wracking talking in front of the Goldings."

"But you did it," marvelled Ingrid. "Beth, I'm so pleased for you! You inspire me, honestly!"

"Do I?" Beth looked surprised. "In what way?"

Now it was Ingrid's turn to confess. She looked down at the table-cloth with its warm tones and pattern of Bushman paintings, and thought of the sterile atmosphere at Dunmore Clinic. The way Warren had looked at her the last time they had visited him - the time when Dr Rawlings had accidentally mixed up herself and Nadine Solomon - it had felt as if they were complete strangers to each other. Feeling the emptiness inside her, she realised how desperately she wanted to talk to Beth. She had, in fact, been waiting for this moment to come since meting her friend on the pavement that morning.

"There's this really handsome guy in Johannesburg," she said, avoiding Beth's eye. "He keeps asking me out, but I keep saying no. What you've told me today has given me courage."

There was a stony silence. All at once, The atmosphere inside the coffee shop reminded Ingrid of a schoolroom. She looked up to see her friend gaping at her in horror.

Dropping her eyes to her hands as they gripped her glass, Beth muttered, "Ingrid, I'm sorry. I'm a fool. I should have known you were vulnerable. Forgive me for talking to you like this about Brian."

"No, Beth!" protested Ingrid, grasping her friend's wrist across the table. Their eyes met. "You aren't responsible for this. Something has happened at home which I can't talk about, but that is the reason for me feeling this way, not you!"

"Even so, I think I'd better go," said Beth. She pushed back her chair and got up, leaving her half-finished glass of iced coffee on the saucer. "I feel terrible about this. I knew Warren was sick, but I had no idea it was affecting you so badly." Her fingers fumbled at the clasp of her handbag.

"It's okay, I'll pay," Ingrid told her, reaching for her purse. She felt as if she'd just stripped down to her panties and bra and revealed that they were full of holes. It had been a mistake to confide in Beth, but it would be even more of a mistake to try and defend herself. How could Beth understand her sense of betrayal without knowing about the birth certificate and Nadine Solomon?

"Would you? Thanks," said Beth, smoothing down her floral blouse.

Ingrid nodded. "Actually, you're right about me being vulnerable, Beth," she said with what she hoped sounded like genuine chagrin. "I guess I got carried away hearing about you and Brian. Don't feel bad though. I'll get over it."

That seemed to convince Beth. "Okay, my friend, but be strong. I know it can get hellish lonely. You just crave someone who'll take the load off. But remember, I stuck it out for eighteen months, so it's not impossible."

Not impossible, thought Ingrid as they stood at the till, waiting to pay the bill, but not necessarily sensible either. Why turn down a perfectly innocent invitation to have lunch with a man if it could help cheer up a miserable situation? She wouldn't have to tell anyone, after all. It could be their secret … hers and Carl's.

**

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